


a ribcage split open

by cthulu_sun



Series: aftg magic au [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-07-12 05:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19940983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulu_sun/pseuds/cthulu_sun
Summary: The body presses its fingers against Andrew's and starts shrinking. The eyes spin, slowly, and fill with stars. A voice echoes, both too big and too small at once, a thousand sounds all pushed together into one lost little voice that breaks and shivers and echoes and echoes and -"Elemental," the body says, in a voice that sounds too painful to exist. "I need your help."Andrew does not breathe. Does not move, is frozen in place. The water hums, and the flowers beneath it stretch themselves out, until they're everywhere, covering everything. The water seeps into his bones; this is not a dream that is meant for him. Not a dream he should be having at all.-an eventful summer in the life of andrew minyard, who is too tired for this shit but loves his friends and boyfriend too much to say no.





	a ribcage split open

**Author's Note:**

> written for fairietailed on tumblr as part of the aftg summer exchange, I hope you like it!
> 
> you said anything would be fine as long as the end is happy, so I hope this suffices, I'm not sure I really did the prompt justice but I tried my best

"It smells like rain," Neil announces, head tilted towards the sky. Sunlight paints him gold, sliding down his throat and illuminating the tiny slip of shoulder peeking out of the shirt that's slightly too big for him. It's probably one of Matt's. Andrew's hands twitch, and the ivy he's pruning laughs at him.

 _Jealous_ _?_ She whispers, voice fluttering with mirth, and he scowls, stabbing her viciously with the shears. There's no need for him to be jealous; Neil is _his_ , and everyone knows that. Aaron always says they're disgustingly married. He's still touching the ivy, gripping a little too tightly it seems, as she's still giggling when he pulls away.

The heat is stifling, today. Andrew can't imagine it raining. He and Neil are working in the garden, because they always do on Thursday afternoons; the plants get lonely, otherwise. Start complaining.

Neil's standing on the path between the small herb garden and the vegetable patch, dripping with sunshine, green watering can in one hand and a bundle of sage in the other. Seth asked for some yesterday, fidgeting and blustering in one of the English classrooms. Andrew had almost told him to fuck off, just on principle, but something about the look on Seth's face had stopped him. (Seth doesn't wear desperation often).

Above them, the trees are singing. Their voices sink into Andrew's bones, quiet and warm. Neil twists round to look at him, a smile tugging at his lips, and it's the expression that makes Andrew feel like a ribcage split open, with flowers growing in his insides. It's the expression that leaves him dizzy with desire, tongue too heavy in his mouth.

The ivy laughs again. Andrew threatens to cut her down to half her favourite fence. 

_You're too soft for that,_ she teases, and she's not wrong. He's been quietly thawing ever since he met Neil. 

Small droplets of water form on Neil's hands, clinging to his fingertips. "See?" Neil says, delighted. "Rain."

Andrew can't take this. He drops the shears, reaches forward, and gently cups Neil's cheek with his hand, pulls him closer. His heart won't stop racing, the traitor. A year. A whole year he's had Neil, and his heart still beats too fast every time they so much as look at each other. It's exhausting. 

"Yes or no?" he asks. Between them, time stretches languidly and hovers, unmoving. The air shivers.

"Yes," Neil says softly, so Andrew leans in and kisses him. He feels himself come apart, unmade in the heat of Neil's mouth; he is a body of dust, one breath away from scattering over the earth. Beneath him, the world spins. 

When they break apart, Neil is beaming, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. He's unbearably pretty. Andrew pulls lightly at the shirt Neil's wearing. It's definitely one of Matt's, and he doesn't need to be jealous, not when he can make Neil look like _this_ , dazed and blushing, but still. Neil never wears his clothes with this much ease.

Slowly, the garden slips back into focus. The herbs are arguing. The sunflowers are exchanging gossip with the roses. The tree saplings are choking each other's roots by accident - he's already moved them twice, and is disinclined to go through the whole process again. The vegetables are excited because the rain is coming. Everything quivers with anticipation. 

Neil goes back to watering the plants, humming quietly. The old apple tree joins in, stretching towards him in the hopes of catching his attention. Andrew glares at them until they shrink back to their usual place. He picks up the shears. Moves away from the ivy, towards one of the flowerbeds. Renee wanted chamomile, he remembers. 

"The plants are happy," he says. "About the rain."

Neil shrugs. "Don't know when it's coming." 

That's - unusual. Normally Neil's weather magic is strong enough and nosy enough to pinpoint exactly when a change is likely to occur. Granted, magic is volatile and often annoyingly vague, but Neil's not a seer. His magic's always precise. It doesn't seem to bother him, though, so Andrew lets it slide. Lets the questions slip from his fingers like sand.

While he's collecting chamomile flowers a tiny grass spirit stumbles over his legs. The sage she'd been carrying spills onto the path, and she sprawls on the ground, bell-like voice tinkling. Andrew picks up the sage and helps her to her feet; as soon as they touch his magic shrieks, and he can understand what she's saying. 

_Lavender_ , she says, voice high and frantic. _Someone's taken the lavender!_

The lavender, when he reaches it, is complaining. Loudly. And half of it is missing. _Fuck_.

How could he have missed this? He doesn't have protections for every plant, but the garden's warded pretty heavily, and he'd be able to hear if any of them were unhappy -

he'd heard the lavender screaming last night. Heard it and calmed them down as best he could, thinking he'd deal with it properly in the afternoon. And here he is now, with half of them gone; and he can feel it, an empty space in his magic, like someone's carved a piece out of him.

Neil comes up behind him, hands hovering over his waist. Andrew nods, and Neil hugs him, lets Andrew rest against the firmness of his chest, looking at the state of the garden. It's so clean. The only thing out of place is the barren soil, and it's as impersonal as taking a stranger's knife in the ribs. 

He's shaking. Neil tightens his hold, and the two of them stand there, in the silence. Mourning. One of the stargazer lilies unfurls, bright in the sun, and Andrew sends him small murmurs of gratitude for blooming a little early. The lily preens in response. 

Later, when Neil's gone home and the house feels too big and too small all at once, too full of emptiness, he goes back to the garden. His bare feet mean he's closer to the earth, and his magic curls into the grass. The lily is muted, in the moonlight. Brushed pink by summer. He touches the petals, as gently as he can. The lily likes being petted, he learns, but would prefer him to touch the stem. There's less to lose, there. 

So Andrew carefully strokes the stem of the lily with the tip of his finger. The old apple tree reaches for him, stinking of sorrow. Regret.

 _I'm the guard_ , they say. _Sorry._

Andrew sighs. Leans his head against the bark. He feels like crumbling stars in polluted cities, like brittle branches struck by lightning. 

_I promised_ , he answers. And then, _forgive me_.

-

That night, Andrew dreams of a body, floating in a river. The water's a quiet kind of green, like magic when it first meets the air. A shy, unassuming kind of green.

There's nothing else. Just Andrew, knee-deep in water that feels like honey, thick and sticking to his skin. And the body, floating. One eye opens, spinning in its socket, and the body rises, up and up and up. Up and up and up. Achingly slow. Time moves like treacle. The body moves like nothing Andrew has ever seen before. 

There are flowers, in the water. He can feel them hiding beneath its surface; they're crying. His skin burns with the urge to comfort them, but something's blocking his magic. A shield. A barrier. The hint of a warning. The flowers call for him, soft and pleading, and Andrew squeezes his eyes shut tight, thinks of sweet lavender, screaming his name. Lifts a hand to reassure them, to say _I'm here_ , to bundle them up in his arms and never let them go. He wishes Neil were here. 

And that's an uncomfortable thought, even now. It's hard to admit that he's mellowed enough for someone to slide through the cracks in his mask and open him up. Hard to admit that he has someone to help him now, when he's hurting. When the plants need him. Bee helps, always, but she doesn't count. She didn't slide through cracks so much as create them in the first place.

See, there was a time when Andrew thought he'd never feel anything again. He'd sit on Bee's roof, listen to his heartbeat pounding in his ears and think: _you could fall from here_ , and it never made a difference. 

And then, Neil. A hurricane in a person, beautiful and deadly, and Andrew found himself _wanting_ , when he thought he'd given up on that years ago. And here they are, now: two boys with enough sense and experience to know that the world isn't kind but stubbornly forcing it from its hiding places anyway. 

This is Andrew, now: healing and navigating how to care again, and the flowers are still crying and the body is falling, down down down until it's facing him, eyes wide and empty, like hollow caves.

The body presses its fingers against Andrew's and starts shrinking. The eyes spin, slowly, and fill with stars. A voice echoes, both too big and too small at once, a thousand sounds all pushed together into one lost little voice that breaks and shivers and echoes and echoes and -

 _elemental_ , the body says, in a voice that sounds too painful to exist. _I need your help._

Andrew does not breathe. Does not move, is frozen in place. The water hums, and the flowers beneath it stretch themselves out, until they're everywhere, covering everything. The water seeps into his bones; this is not a dream that is meant for him. Not a dream he should be having at all. 

_Elemental_ , the body prompts.

Forcing his tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth is harder than he thought it would be. Maybe he mumbles a response. Maybe he doesn't. The body barrels on, regardless, unaware that Andrew's shaking apart. Unaware of the problem it's causing just by being here. 

Elemental means Neil. It has to; he's the only one local enough for whatever this is, and Andrew's the only person who has similar enough magic for the body to have contacted him by mistake. 

_My friend's stuck on the leyline_ , the body continues, as if that explains anything at all. It's probably supposed to, and Neil would likely understand much more than Andrew does, right now. He hadn't even known there was a leyline, here. 

The body's waiting for a response, twitching and refusing to look Andrew in the eye. Andrew thinks now would be a good time to wake up.

Feeling water at his ankles, Andrew looks down, and the river is draining. Little pieces of greenery are starting to peek through, angled towards him, like he's the centre of the universe. Some of them are crying. Some of them are screaming. Some of them are whispering his name in voices he recognises and the water's gone and there are thousands upon thousands of flowers in the riverbed, and in the centre of them all there's lavender. His lavender. 

There's a boy, nestled in the flowers, sleeping. He has golden hair that shines with its own light, and the body stares down at him, something like fondness softening its features. Andrew feels sick.

The body lifts its head, and the number three is stamped on its cheek, black and stark against its pale skin. Andrew _burns_ , because he doesn't know that much about what happened at Evermore, since the entire investigation into the magic school was kept as private as possible, but he knows that the numbers are a symbol. A statement. A mark that says: I am the best the world had to offer. 

And this changes everything. Neil isn't weak, or delicate, or fragile, or anything else that their friends seem to think he is, and Andrew knows he can hold his own, but Evermore is _dangerous_ , and Neil's been in danger too often to understand that it's okay to stop running. It's okay to grow roots when you want to feel safe. 

Andrew concentrates. Tastes metal on his tongue. A moment later a thorn forms in his hand, nothing too deadly, but sharp enough to be painful. He stabs at the body wildly, and it sticks in the stomach; of course, the thing doesn't bleed. Just winces, looking betrayed, and then wide-eyed. 

_You're not the elemental_ , the body realises, finally. 

"Well done," Andrew says, a smile spilling across his face, and lunges; at the same time, his magic reaches for the lavender and pulls and pulls and pulls -

his eyes snap open and he's looking at the ceiling, heart just this side of too fast and body like liquid. In the garden, the lavender shrieks with happiness. Something like relief settles in his stomach. 

-

In the wake of his weird magic dream, Andrew calls Neil. What he really wants to do is go to Bee and have her presence calm all the noise in his head, maybe drink hot chocolate with her, but it's early and Bee's been overworked lately. She needs the rest. So Andrew calls Neil, because he won't mind, because he never minds when it comes to Andrew, because if he dreams tomorrow without knowing what it is he'll run without thinking, because Andrew is still shaking and he can't stop. 

Neil answers quickly, voice soft and scratchy with sleep. The sound of it warms Andrew's insides. "You okay?" 

"I had a dream," Andrew says, feeling like a child again, huddled in Bee's room with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, phantom hands sliding over his skin, trying to make himself as small as possible.

 _I had a dream_ , tapping at Bee's arm to wake her up and sitting next to her on the big double bed, steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands while she silently chases his ghosts away. He doesn't do it so much, now. He has Neil to viciously attack his ghosts, so he doesn't tire Bee out. So he doesn't make her regret adopting the problem children.

"You want me to come over?" Neil asks. He sounds like rain. Outside, the peonies wriggle in excitement.

"Do what you like," Andrew deflects, wondering if going to the garden is worth Aaron's wrath at being woken up too early. And then, "No, don't. I'll see you at school." 

(Because Neil knows that Andrew deflecting means _yes._ Means _I want_ when Andrew can't say the words because wanting is the same as giving the world a list of your weaknesses and letting it come at you with no defence). 

He can deal with Aaron, he decides, and moves downstairs, taking Neil with him. The garden is cold, when he opens the door. He shivers, and heads for the greenhouse, one step at a time. The old apple tree expresses concern when he walks past, but he waves them away. He's not shaking, anymore. Not too badly. 

Neil is silent, on the other side of the phone. Andrew listens to him breathing; it's oddly comforting. He opens up the greenhouse with one hand, slips inside, and everything stills. It's so quiet here. Even the plants sense that he needs peace, and mostly leave him alone. He stands next to the chrysanthemums, curling his toes in the soil. Like this, he doesn't have to think about it. Doesn't have to think about a boy from Evermore looking for Neil.

"Talk," Andrew says, and Neil talks. Allison wants bottled lightning for her birthday because there was an elemental in Paris who could shape it in their palms, and Neil's not quite sure how to do it. Matt's thinking of getting a dog. Uncle Stuart wants him to see a therapist again. 

"Worried you've forgotten how to lie?" Andrew teases. In the first few weeks of knowing him, Neil never spoke the truth, even when threatened. Now, he doesn't tend to lie. Neil Josten is a boy made up of facts and truths and hollow secrets shared on rooftops. 

Neil scoffs. "I'm an _excellent_ liar, Andrew." 

There's movement, in the garden. A small figure is making their way to the greenhouse, trampling all over his vegetables, the bastard. Andrew hums in response to Neil, in a disbelieving sort of way so he knows how wrong he is, and waves at the rapidly approaching figure. It's Aaron, with that peculiar expression he has sometimes, a mix between murderous and concerned. 

"You don't have to go alone." It's as much of an offer as Andrew is willing to give, but Neil will understand. Neil always understands. 

Aaron's getting closer. Maybe close enough to mess with, if Andrew can be bothered. Another flower screeches when Aaron steps on it, barely muttering an apology, and Andrew quickly decides he can be bothered.

"The other one's coming," he tells Neil. "Do you want to piss him off?" 

Neil laughs lightly, and if Andrew keeps his eyes closed he can almost pretend Neil's there with him. 

"Sure," Neil says, and Andrew puts him on speaker. The greenhouse door squeaks open, the plants wave in anticipation, and Neil clears his throat. 

So, his voice rings out just as Aaron enters the greenhouse, making a beeline for Andrew. "I've been thinking," Neil says, loud and matter of fact. "I want you to fuck my mouth."

Well. That's one way to do it. Aaron looks appropriately disgusted, red cheeks and narrowed eyes and pursed lips, no longer concerned. Andrew raises an eyebrow, trying to look as composed as possible. He's not sure it works. Still, Aaron's likely to leave them to it, with this. Won't stick around too long.

"Hello, dear brother," Andrew says, and there's a lift in it, a slight hint of humour, and he _hates_ that Neil can affect him this much when he's not even here. Hates in a way that settles on his tongue, a gentle heat. 

Aaron puffs up in anger and embarrassment, stammering incoherently. "I thought - you- dream -" he stops. Takes a deep breath. "I thought you had a dream," he says, not quite a question but getting there. A skeletal worry. 

"Most people have them, yes," Andrew replies, just to infuriate him further. It's amusing.

Aaron sighs. "You never want to try, do you?"

"Not really. Go back to bed." (It's as soft as he can bear. A peace offering. He's still going to have to console the vegetables after this, though).

"Hold out your hands," Aaron mutters, through clenched teeth.

"No touching."

"I won't. Just do it." 

And that's easier, now. Setting boundaries. Bee would be proud. So Andrew holds out his hands, and Aaron drops a couple of seeds into them. The seeds are tiny and green, and he can almost taste the magic surrounding them; it's thick, the magic. Cloying.

"They're from Renee," Aaron clarifies. And then he's gone, weaving gracelessly back through the plants. 

In the quiet, Andrew listens. To the earth, humming gently. To Neil, breathing. Alive. To the seeds in his hands. (They're in pain). 

-

Seth finds him while he's trying to surreptitiously hide a newly sprouting rosemary plant in the school's miniature greenhouse. She has slight separation anxiety, and he'd promised to bring her with him because she'd been so sweet when asking him, but the greenhouses at school are strictly for more dangerous plants that can't be grown at home, like the wolfsbane he's been secretly tending, since with Nicky due back soon he can't grow any in his own garden.

It's raining, Andrew notices absently, feeling the drops fall on his bare hands. Seth is soaked already. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asks, as if it isn't incredibly obvious. Andrew shrugs, filling one of the school pots labelled 'hemlock' with compost and transferring the rosemary into it. He places her behind the slightly taller plants, and they won't hide her for long but it's enough to keep her safe for a little while, at least. 

"My job," he replies. Seth'll be dumb enough to believe him.

"Bullshit," Seth retorts.

(Or not). 

Andrew sighs. Brushes the dirt off his hands and rummages in his bag for the bundle of sage. "Just a little criminal activity," he says. "Try not to tell anyone about my nefarious deeds."

"You're so fucking weird."

Andrew throws the sage at him. Taps his foot on the ground and tears it open with his magic, encouraging the dormant plants there to grow; Seth's legs are a mess of greenery, the kind he can't break. The kind he can't fight. It's always entertaining, to anger Seth like this. He's so determined he can defeat anything, and yet he's no match for Andrew's magically enhanced flowers. 

"Minyard!" Seth snarls, or yells, or hisses. Smirking, Andrew tugs at his magic. Drags it back inside himself, coiled in his stomach, and the earth connects and the plants snap and Seth is laughing. Laughing and trying to hide it, because Seth Gordon shows no emotion except anger, most of the time. He is made of knives and barbed wire and too many edges. Seth Gordon has an image to maintain, as he is constantly reminding everyone, loudly and at great length. 

Seth bends to pick up the sage, taking a small bottle half-filled with golden liquid and dropping a leaf into it. Andrew tenses. The liquid bubbles, rising up through the neck of the bottle and almost spilling from the top, if Seth hadn't pushed his thumb over it. The liquid stills, turns from gold to milky white, and Andrew's heart leaps into his throat. 

"The weight of your stupidity will squash you like an ant," he says. "I should have known better."

(It's strange, having friends. He and Seth don't exactly get on well, but his blood is warming and there's something too close to concern simmering in his chest. Memory potions are dangerous, even for professionals who've been making them for years. As a high school student it's unthinkable, and yet Seth is shaking the bottle, his mouth set in a thin line of grim determination).

"Shut up," Seth mutters. "Renee said I'll be fine."

"Renee's not as omniscient as her God."

He's learned, through his mutual agreement with Renee (which neither of them have had the courage to call a friendship, yet), that what she sees isn't set in stone. Renee sees possibilities, events that hang between real and not quite, and her visions are hardly the most reliable source of information on their own. She's a master at gentle manipulation, though, so maybe Seth really will be fine. 

The rain's coming down faster. It's a heavy, world-weary kind of rain. Enough to be a purifier, if Andrew's quick. 

"You'd better make sure I don't die, Minyard." 

And Seth tips his head back and drinks, as self-assured and confident as he's always been. He can't hide the trembling of his hands, though, and Andrew really doesn't have time for this, but he can't let Seth do something like this without supervision. Can't let Seth get trapped in his own mind. 

There's a small, choked off sort of sound, and Seth stumbles. Andrew catches him before he hits the ground. He presses his hand to the earth, steadies his magic, and whispers a time-keeping spell. Blue numbers form on his palm, counting down. Five minutes. That's how long it can last before potential accidents, and if necessary there's the chamomile and the rain, to keep Seth awake. 

The chamomile's technically for someone else, but they can deal -

Renee.

Damn it, Renee. 

Class starts soon, and it's one he shares with Neil so he doesn't want to miss it, but if Seth stays under for the full five minutes he might have to. The timer's ticking, ticking, ticking, and Andrew watches the rise and fall of Seth's chest. Thinks, _at least he's breathing. That's a start._

The chamomile flowers are slightly crushed, but they brighten up when Andrew apologises and explains that he needs their help. One of the trees nearby silently offers a leaf with a puddle of collected rainwater in its centre to him, and he tears a petal from one of the flowers, soothing the pain with his magic. He places the petal gently on top of the rainwater, breathes a mixture of a purification and rejuvenating spell into life. 

The earth is blue at the tips. The rain spins into ghosts in the dim glow of the spell. Andrew doesn't create spells often; he is ripped apart, torn to pieces, floating aimlessly in space. A quiet non-existence, and the world falls back into place and he is here again, too aware and too alive. 

_Tick, tick, tick,_ the timer says a minute. Seth shudders and groans, clutching at Andrew so tight it hurts. 

_Can I take your leaf?_ Andrew asks the tree. 

_Yes,_ the tree says. So Andrew pulls at the leaf until it comes free, and tilts it so the spell drips onto Seth's chest, over his heart. Seth gasps awake, fists clenched and brow furrowed. 

"I'm gonna kill him!" He shouts, just as the bell rings. 

Andrew pushes him to the door, and runs. They'll need to talk about it at some point, but there's no time, now. They can talk later, if Seth needs. For now, Andrew slides into the seat behind Neil only a few minutes late, and tries not to think about whatever the fuck is happening. 

-

While the teacher's distracted Neil turns round to grin at him, and thousands of butterflies crawl up Andrew's throat. He swallows, avoiding thoughts about the softness of Neil's lips or the tempting curve of his mouth or the brightness of his eyes. It's a good distraction. Neil always is, even when he's not trying to be. 

"I need to talk to you," Andrew says quietly. If Neil meets the dreamwalker with no preparation it'll be disastrous for everyone involved. And since the dreamwalker's been targeting magic instead of people, Andrew's involved now, despite being ready to wash his hands of the entire magical community after graduation and live the rest of his life as a hermit in the woods.

"Is this your dream? Did you tell Bee?"

Andrew shakes his head. There's a tree spirit clinging to the clock on the wall, chirping every so often. They're dropping seeds on the floor, throwing as many as possible when the teacher glares in the direction of Andrew and Neil, diverting her attention. Andrew promises to plant one of their seeds in his garden, as thanks. (He really is getting soft, there's barely any space for the current trees, let alone a new one).

"Magic dream," he answers, and Neil nods in understanding. Bee's completely human; she doesn't have any magic blood in her at all, so Andrew only tends to go to her with the ordinary bad dreams. He doesn't want her to be worried over things she can't do anything about. 

Neil lifts his hand. "I want to touch your hair," he says. "Yes or no?"

Wanting. It's always want with Neil, hungry black hole that he is. Not that Andrew's much better, really, made of gaping mouths with razor sharp teeth and a gnawing, blinding hunger in his bones for the things that hurt and the things he didn't know could heal. 

"Yes," Andrew tells him, because he has been scraped raw too many times to count, and is learning how to be soft. Is discovering how strangely _good_ it feels to be touched, when you want it. When it's more like a brush of sunlight than the crawling discomfort he's grown used to. 

Neil's hand slides into his hair, and for a moment everything is fine. There's no dreamwalker or cryptic seer or Seth being stupid; it's just the two of them, together, on a normal day. Neil throws a worried glance over his shoulder at the teacher, and the world comes flooding back in.

"Talk now, or later?"

"Later," Andrew decides. He grabs Neil's wrist, feels for the pulse. Stops him turning back to his desk, because maybe he's a fool and wants to look at his boyfriend's pretty face a little longer. The teacher clears their throat, and Andrew waves. Releases Neil's wrist, and motions for them to continue. The lesson goes on.

The tree spirit leaps down from the clock and sits on the windowsill, swinging their legs. 

_Promise_ , they say, forcefully. Speaking like a human so Andrew can understand. 

_Yeah, yeah. I'll remember._

He made a promise to a dying woman that he'd take care of her tiny seeds and grow them somewhere kind, somewhere good, somewhere safe, and he'd done it. Andrew keeps his promises.

(Lavender, screaming in the night. Lavender, holding a sleeping, sunshine boy. Lavender, shrieking with happiness.

Andrew keeps his promises as best he can). 

Later, he sits on some remote staircase that no one ever uses, holding Neil's hand, fingers intertwined. "What you said, when we were fucking with Aaron. Did you mean it?"

It's been a quiet curiosity in the back of his mind since this morning. Neil smiles. "Perhaps," he says. And then, "Yes."

Andrew shuts his eyes. Neil, the black hole of want and desire and an insatiable longing. Neil, an endless spiral of yearning, of soft hands with elegant fingers and sharp cheekbones and a fire inside of him. Andrew, a boy made of stardust. Andrew, helplessly caught in his orbit, spinning and spinning and spinning. 

Neil looks at him with eyes that flicker blue and green and gold, a year's worth of secrets between them. "Do you want to?" he whispers. 

"Perhaps," Andrew replies. And then, "I'll think about it." 

To calm the unfurling heat in his gut he tells Neil about the dream. This is what happens: Neil seems surprised, and lost in thought. He doesn't panic immediately, like Andrew was expecting. (Like Andrew did). Just hums, twisting his fingers in the strings of Andrew's hoodie.

"How do you get stuck on a leyline?"

Andrew shrugs. He knows absolutely nothing about leylines, since plant witches rarely use them, and he's perfectly fine with his magic the way it is. Doesn't need anything stronger. 

"Kevin might know," he offers. Kevin knows most things, when it comes magic. Maybe to make up for not having any of his own.

"Kevin'll know the dreamwalker too."

That's unlikely - Kevin doesn't really interact with people outside the tight-knit group they've formed. Some of his skepticism must show on his face, because Neil chuckles.

"Weird, right? But if they're Evermore, Kevin'll know them."

And that's kind of believable, at least. Andrew's not sure Kevin had anything close to friends, at Evermore, but nobody did. It's worth a try, in case he does know the dreamwalker.

Neil tips forward, and rests his head against Andrew's shoulder. Andrew pats his head gently.

"You're tired," he says.

Neil huffs a laugh. "And whose fault is that, hm?"

Rolling his eyes, Andrew pokes him in the shoulder. "Sleep."

(In the silence and the dust and the echo, the earth tilts sideways. Outside, the trees whisper among themselves. The air feels different, charged with dormant magic. Waiting. Summer is coming, and summer is late. Summer has ink-stained hands and dusty pink cheeks and a bright smile, and summer is made of light.

In the darkness, Neil sleeps).

Andrew wakes him up in time for his next class. They don't have this one together, so Andrew stays where he is, listening. A question that isn't his clings to his tongue, rippling through the earth.

 _Where is summer?_ The plants ask, loud and relentless. Andrew doesn't know. He's not an elemental. 

_Summer is here_ , he tells them.

_Liar._

Summer could be stuck on the leyline for all Andrew cares. Maybe it's been held up. Maybe it needed a break. Andrew's not judging. The plants are incosolable, though. Summer should be here, and for whatever reason it isn't, and everything's worried and scared and confused.

Andrew leans his head back against the wall. Thinks, _calm down._ Thinks, _hurry the fuck up, summer._

At lunch, he sits at the usual table. Dan and Matt are already there, with Aaron slumped over a textbook opposite them. Andrew points an accusatory finger at Matt.

"Stop letting my boyfriend steal your clothes."

And Matt throws his head back and laughs, bright and full. "Hey, man, it's not my fault! Neil just comes and takes them while I'm sleeping or whatever."

"Whipped," Aaron says, without looking up. It comes out a bit muffled. 

Andrew grabs his shoulder and shoves him over, sitting down next to him. Aaron glares, but Andrew's more interested in Kevin, walking towards them, five books balanced gingerly in his arms and looking like he hasn't slept in weeks. 

The books topple over onto the table, and Kevin just sighs, standing there like the world's ended. Matt leans over to help stack them into a neat pile, while Andrew tugs Kevin by the arm, forcing him to sit down. 

"Your medication is not a cleverly disguised poison," he says. 

Kevin rolls his eyes. "I'm not a fucking machine, okay? I forgot."

"You forget too much."

"Good afternoon, peasants!" Allison glides over to the table, Renee close behind her. As usual, the two of them slide in next to Dan, Allison knocking Kevin's books over in the process.

Kevin looks ready to commit murder, but Andrew tightens his grip on his arm in warning. Renee fixes them with Matt's help, and Kevin looks slightly appeased. 

"Hello, Andrew," Renee says, smiling. 

"I don't have your chamomile," Andrew tells her, "But you already knew that."

Her eyes flash blue, for a second. The room flickers in and out of existence, trading places with the emptiness of Renee's sight. In the sea of blue mist that surrounds her sits Seth, coughing his lungs out. And with him is Andrew, crushed chamomile flower pressed tightly to his chest.

"That's not what happened."

"I know," Renee admits, fiddling with the cross hanging from her neck. Her sight fades, and the noise of the cafeteria filters back in. "Did you get my seeds?" 

Andrew wrinkles his nose. He hasn't had time to plant them yet, and he's not sure he wants to. Raw magic is hard to take care of. "I thought perhaps you had finally lost your mind."

Renee laughs, a little lost, a little sad. "I'm a seer," she reminds him. "We all do, eventually."

She gives him a piece of paper, folded in half. It's instructions on how to care for the seeds, called 'dream thieves.' They help with nightmares, apparently. He'd wondered why the magic had been so pungent, but dream magic always is. 

"Oh my God, Renee's giving Andrew love letters!" Someone whispers, voice full of excitement. Andrew thinks it's Dan, and he looks up to see the whole table staring at them, including Seth, having just arrived with his tray of food.

Neil's late. Andrew pretends it doesn't bother him. 

"Gross," Seth comments, setting his tray down and lightly smacking the back of Andrew's head as he walks past. "Also Kevin, just a heads up, I'm gonna fight you sometime next week."

"Nice," Aaron says, while Kevin's eyes widen in alarm.

Sometimes Andrew hates having to associate with these people. Renee's the only one vaguely approaching tolerable, and even then she's annoying at the best of times. The only person worth knowing is Neil, and he's not here yet. So Andrew just has to suffer until he shows up.

Kevin's complaining about having done nothing to deserve this, and Seth's complaining about Kevin stealing his memories for a magical experiment that didn't even work, which Seth really didn't need to take the risk of a memory potion for (and Andrew _will_ be interrogating Kevin about that later), and in the middle of it Dan is flicking through Kevin's pile of books.

"Fuck, dude, why'd you need all these? We covered leylines like three months ago."

Leylines? That's an interesting coincidence.

"None of your business!" Kevin snaps, cheeks pink.

Allison swivels to grin at him, chin propped up in her hand. "Is it a secret, Kevin? A shameful, embarrassing moment? Please enlighten us."

"Jean's been having problems," Renee explains, and the name means nothing to Andrew but everyone's nodding as if this makes sense.

His confusion must be obvious, because she adds, "The dreamwalker? The one I broke out of Evermore."

And _oh_. He'd known, like everyone else, that Renee was the reason behind the investigation into Evermore, and that she'd done _something_ there, but this is a surprise. Not a coincidence, then. A dreamwalker that knows Renee and Kevin is probably safe, at least. Not entirely, because nothing ever is, but probably. 

"Neil!" Matt yells suddenly, leaping out of his seat. Andrew turns and there Neil is, patting Matt gently on the back. He's glowing. (Andrew hates him so much). 

Matt lets go of Neil and bounds back to his seat, and Neil comes up to Andrew, smiling. Andrew wants to punch him in his stupid, pretty mouth. Maybe kiss him too. Instead, he brings his wrist up to eye level and taps it, twice. Neil pulls a face at him.

"Wymack kept us too long," he says, hands inching towards Andrew's head. Andrew nods, and Neil threads his fingers through Andrew's hair. 

"Gross part two," Aaron mutters. Andrew twists to bare his teeth at him. 

Dan throws a screwed-up wad of paper at him. "You and Katelyn are worse."

Aaron complains. Loudly. "Him and his _boytoy_ or whatever had phone sex right in front of me!"

Neil laughs, hands tightening on Andrew's scalp. Andrew hates the mischievous look on his face. "Maybe."

Someone chokes. From the immediate commotion that comes after it, Andrew assumes it was Kevin. It's not that believable, since both Andrew and Neil are private people, but Kevin's always been gullible.

(Andrew presses his face into Neil's stomach to hide the burning of his ears. He's not sure it works, but thankfully nobody says anything).

"Anyway," Neil says. And then switches to French. Kevin murmurs a response, while other conversations break out among the rest of them. Andrew's still listening, though.

"Jean found you, then?" Kevin asks, in English.

"Found me," Andrew corrects, into the soft fabric of Neil's sweater.

The French continues. Andrew's skin itches: he's getting tired of hearing them talk in a language he can't understand. He reaches up to pull at one of Neil's hands, linking it with his own. It helps calm the bubbling anger that's been rising in him.

"You're not an elemental anymore," Neil says. Kevin scowls.

"I know the magic! I'll help you."

"Fine."

And that's the end of it. Andrew leans against Neil, solid and warm, and breathes. His friends aren't so bad, really.

-

When Andrew comes home there's a strange smell in the air. Bee's hunched over a large saucepan in the kitchen, stirring vigorously. An open recipe book sits beside her on the counter, covered in purple drawings and red annotations. Andrew sniffs. Wolfsbane. 

"Nicky's due back tomorrow," he says, as he pulls his shoes off.

Bee straightens, wiping sweat from her forehead. At least she's wearing gloves. "Andrew! I thought you were going to Neil's?" 

Great deflection, Bee. "I changed my mind. Are you planning to poison my cousin?"

A shadow underneath the moon, writhing in pain. A nightmare. A boy worn thin at the edges, chin above the waves, desperately trying to stay afloat. Nicky deserves to be safe. Deserves to be more than an afterthought in a home that should be welcoming.

Andrew is not a nice person, but Nicky was the first to believe he could be.

"Am I threatening, Andrew?"

That's the therapist voice. Fuck. He puts the rosemary he'd been carrying down and shrugs, coming up behind her and slipping his arms round her waist. Rests his head on her shoulder.

"No," he says. Sometimes he forgets, that it's not just him and Nicky and Aaron against the world, now. There are others to protect. There are people to protect him.

"Abby and David found a feral werewolf yesterday," she explains. "This is a sedative, so they can try healing his wounds without him snapping."

She continues to stir. Andrew thinks he can hear the creak of old bones, if he strains hard enough. "Good way to build trust, that." 

Bee doesn't say anything. He can tell she wants to, but she's not his therapist anymore, so she's trying not to force him to consider everything he says. To pick it apart until he's forgotten what he was supposed to mean in the first place. 

They're both learning, together. 

"Could you check how long I should be stirring this for?"

"No," Andrew says, but peels away from her all the same, peering at her recipe book. "Half an hour."

He helps her take the pan off the heat, and she throws in crushed ash tree bark. Andrew instantly reaches for the ash tree in his garden, but she seems fine. A little shaken, but the bark was scraped off properly, so she's not hurt.

The front door opens while Bee's taking off her gloves, and Aaron comes wandering in. He stands in the kitchen doorway, sniffing. "Is that wolfsbane?" 

Aaron's not magic. He shouldn't be able to smell wolfsbane, unless it's excessively strong.

"Stop looking at me like that," Aaron says, arms crossed over his chest. "I know some things."

Bee opens a jar and pours the sedative into it, screwing the lid on tightly. "It's fine, Aaron. I'll clean the kitchen before Nicky comes. How's Katelyn doing?" 

Katelyn's tree was injured, Andrew remembers. Struck by lightning. She's still in hospital, recovering, and Andrew's almost finished healing her oak tree. He's been working on it when he has the time, and it should be ready by the time she's released.

"Better," Aaron replies. "I think she's more bored than anything."

He has this disgusting smile on his face, whenever he talks about her. It's sickening. To avoid the inevitable awkward, stilted conversation with Aaron, Andrew picks up his rosemary and heads for the garden, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The rosemary's happy, excited to be with her friends. He puts her next to the basil, and she thanks him. There are other seeds to plant, while he's here; the seed from the helpful tree spirit, and Renee's dream thieves.

So Andrew plants seeds and spends time in the garden, listening to the trees and the flowers and the vegetables. Summer is coming. Summer isn't here. 

Saturday morning Andrew and Aaron go to pick up Nicky from the airport, accompanied by various friends. Neil and Kevin are busy researching, and they're trying to rope Abby into helping, Neil had told him during their phone conversation last night. 

The world feels thin, today. A constriction in his chest, a shaking in his hands, a shadow underneath the moon. A grass spirit sits between his feet, chattering with something. Andrew's not quite sure what's going on there, but the grass spirit is happy, so he's leaving them alone for now. 

Renee would tell him if something bad were going to happen. He's sure of that, at least. But knowing doesn't stop the dreams, and last night he'd had a dream, and all he remembers now is the screaming. It's still enough to hurt. 

The hurt eases a little when Nicky appears, suitcase in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. He ruffles Aaron's hair, hugs Renee and Dan, approaches Andrew with caution in every step. Andrew thinks. Assesses. Takes hold of Nicky's shoulders, squeezing gently, and ignores the surprise stamped across Nicky's features. 

"I missed you all!" Nicky exclaims, arms flung open, smile wide and beaming. His nails lengthen into claws, because sometimes Nicky forgets to keep them hidden when he's excited. 

He's been in Germany for three months, visiting his boyfriend, and his magic _stinks_ of Erik. Their friends greet him as if he's been away for years, and people are starting to stare, so Andrew ushers them all back to the cars.

The grass spirit follows him, climbing up his legs as they walk. Andrew wonders how much of his magic smells like Neil, then forces himself to stop, then remembers he's not supposed to do that anymore. So he lets himself wonder. Neil's his boyfriend, he's allowed. 

While they're on the way back Nicky comes up next to him, all soft with a quiet sadness clinging to him. "Have you talked to Renee recently?"

Andrew stops. Stares. "About you?"

"No, not me! Erik."

Renee is _right there_. "If you're that concerned you can just ask her yourself." 

"But that's _rude_ ," Nicky whines, drawing out the vowels. He's doing a good job of pretending to be normal, Andrew can tell, but something about it doesn't seem sincere. Something about it doesn't seem quite right.

It makes him uncomfortable, that something is so obviously wrong. Maybe Nicky forgot to take his medication with him. Maybe he had to hide it, while in Germany. Andrew's not very knowledgeable about the magic laws there. Maybe the full moon's coming up; he hasn't been keeping track. 

Maybe it's nothing, and he's making things up.

Nicky's fidgeting. "Two weeks ago, she sent me a message," he says quietly. "To look out for Erik. But nothing happened? And I'm just worried, I guess."

"So call him when you get home," Aaron says, leaping into the conversation.

"It's possible that he's fine becaue you've been looking out for him," Andrew adds. "The future is not permanent."

"Aw, guys! I still remember when you refused to talk to me. Those were the days."

Aaron stares. Andrew also stares at him. Nicky laughs gently. "Kidding. I missed you, though. Thanks."

They've come a long way, from how they used to be. But Nicky was the only good person in Andrew's life, once. Clumsy attempts at comfort shouldn't be that big a deal, but here they are in an airport carpark, Nicky close to tears and trying to hide it. 

Andrew's getting so soft, these days. Still, he's glad Nicky's home. 

-

A few days before Allison's birthday, there's a storm. Andrew stands outside with Neil, bare toes curling in the wet grass, watching him try to catch lightning. 

The plants shiver. Andrew does his best to send them warmth, but it's difficult, in the dark and the wind and the rain. Hard to focus. 

When Neil had woken him in the middle of the night, whispering about a present for Allison, Andrew had thought it would only be a little while, and as Neil's anchor he really does need to be there when Neil's attempting new or difficult spells. 

But in the storm time stretches on endlessly, and minutes feel like hours. Andrew's cold and tired and longs to be curled up in bed, but this is _Neil_ and it's almost impossible to say no to him. (And Neil has done many, many miserable things with Andrew, because he's an idiot, because he wanted to, because Andrew had needed him. It's only right to return the favour). 

Complicated symbols are drawn in the earth, glowing green. As an elemental Neil doesn't actually take magic from the earth, but he's borrowing Andrew's as well, and Andrew's so connected to the dirt he might as well be a plant himself.

A flash of lightning splits the sky in half. Neil's hands pulse with a green light, and the lightning arcs towards him, slamming into the ground in front of Andrew's feet. Andrew leaps back, not quite shrieking in shock but close. And Neil's laughing, eyes bright in the darkness. 

"I'm getting better," he says.

"There's better and there's life-threatening, you fool."

Neil chuckles, but forms a protective barrier around Andrew anyway. "I'll be more careful." 

An hour later the two of them dry off in the kitchen, Neil wrestling a ball of lightning into a warded bottle. It looks cool, Andrew supposes, flashing away behind the glass, but not worth the effort, in his opinion. Just the sort of thing Allison would like.

Neil presses a mug of hot chocolate into his hands, complete with a warming spell written on the side. Andrew takes a gulp of it and probably burns his tongue, but it tastes good enough that he can't bring himself to care. 

"While I'm here," Neil says, sitting down at the kitchen table, coffee mug balanced precariously on his knees, "I'd like to borrow some acorns, if you have any."

Andrew rummages in Bee's potion cupboard. Luckily there's a full jar of them on the bottom shelf, which he sets down in front of Neil. "What are they for?" 

"The leyline thing. Me and Kevin, we worked out how to fix it, in theory."

"In theory?" 

"Well harbingers don't normally bind themselves to leylines."

A harbinger? That makes _so much sense_ , especially if he's a summer one. It would explain why the plants are agitated, at least. Andrew nods, and sips his hot chocolate. A thought occurs to him, then, because spells are stronger at certain times, and he wants to spend the full moon with Nicky.

"When are you planning to do this? Will you need me?"

Neil shrugs. "Whenever Kevin's free. Soon, I think. And yeah, I'll need you there, if you can be." 

There's not much that Andrew would refuse Neil. "Okay," he says. "I'll try." 

-

It takes a week for Neil and Kevin to get everything ready, because undoing a binding spell cast by accident is a long and arduous process, and also red dragon scales are hard to come by this time of year. They'd had to bargain with Seth for his secret stash of weird ingredients, and even then he hadn't had as many as they'd been hoping for.

In the end Abby found a couple, borrowed from a friend of a friend, with the promise of Andrew's versatile oak wood in return. 

And here they are now, standing at the back of a potions shop side by side on the leyline, with Andrew as an anchor for both of them. He's inside a protective circle because Neil isn't taking any chances, and to stop him attacking the dreamwalker who'd stolen his lavender. 

The ground is concrete, here. Andrew hates it, the disconnect from the earth and the effort it takes to find its magic. One of the largest sources of magical power and it's in this dusty old carpark, scarcely used and covered in magical residue. Disgusting.

Scattered over the leyline are a handful of acorns, six red dragon scales, large bunches of chamomile flowers, and two iron poles. Connecting them is a string, carefully painted gold by Neil earlier that morning. 

The dreamwalker spreads his hands over the leyline. "I will open it now," he says, and the world splits in half. 

Invisible hands pulling at bare skin, whispers sliding over broken tongues, a ribcage split open; Andrew is here and not here, for a moment. For an hour. For an immeasurable length of time in a space where time does not exist.

And then Andrew is knee-deep in swirling green water, the circle still intact round his feet. Neil traces a symbol on his palm and slams it down into the surface, and the water dissipates. It's strangely familiar.

"You were _in the leyline_ when you found me?" Andrew asks, surprised. Not that he knows much about leylines, at all, but he does know dreamwalkers, and intangible spaces are difficult to cast in.

The dreamwalker wrinkles his nose. "Did you think I sat in Evermore twiddling my thumbs?" 

Neil glares at the both of them. Andrew smiles back at him, as wide and unnatural as possible.

There's a boy, sleeping among flowers. Rows and rows of flowers. No lavender, though. The lavender's safe in Andrew's garden.

Kevin springs into action, dragging Neil with him towards the boy, both of them chanting in a language Andrew doesn't recognise.

(From behind the voices comes a soft, gentle humming).

Magic is a funny thing, Andrew thinks, while he presses his feet into the dirt and drags power out of it. The circle he's trapped in glows blue, and magic slithers from Andrew's hands into Neil's. Andrew blinks, and the boy is covered in twitching chains, flickering with every word from Neil and Kevin.

The humming swells. A tugging in Andrew's stomach and a twinge in his fingers. A crack in the bones.

Neil is singing, water wrapped around the chains. It's raining, the heavy kind of rain that could erase magic, if needed, and Neil's quite adept at using it. Kevin's keeping a careful eye on the rain, because an elemental's clouds are sometimes too strong, and flooding the leyline won't help anything.

Gradually, little by little, the chains start to fade. The dreamwalker's muttering in French, agitated, when the chains _snap_ and the boy opens his eyes. 

(This is how it starts: summer is coming, and the harbinger is tired).

For a moment, all of them stand in silence, looking at eachother, until the leyline spits them out and they're sent tumbling over concrete, accompanied by bits of iron and dragon scale. The boy gets to his feet, helped by the dreamwalker, and beams at them, bathed in light. Andrew's circle breaks.

He gets to Neil first, who looks somewhat alarmed and is reaching for Andrew.

"Thanks for sorting me out," the boy says. "I've been really dumb, huh?"

"Just a bit," Andrew tells him.

"Ah, you're the flower guy! I'm Jeremy." The boy sticks his hand out for Andrew to shake. Andrew does not move.

Jeremy just moves his hand back and goes to hug Kevin, still smiling. Kevin looks a little starry-eyed. (Gross).

Around them, the plants are singing in one loud, excited mess. Neil taps him gently on the shoulder, and Andrew leans into his touch. Summer is coming.

(Summer is here). 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry the ending is really rushed but I wanted to get this out in time, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
